Work Text:
She hated that she had to wash the inside of her gloves now.
The rest of her body being slimy? Artificer could handle that. Just make sure no big globs form that might contaminate batches of tanning liquid or fire powder, and this hindrance would have been no big problem. It just had to be the case that her hands, normally not secreting slimes regardless of their explosiveness, had started to sweat passively as well, making the maroon slugcat’s most useful body part nothing but a risk in producing undesirable impurities. The glove made of lizard hide was a smart solution she devised beforehand, but she had not anticipated just how much she needed to wash it or how horrifically disgusting the interior of the glove felt after some use. Ever stuck a hand up a dead lizard’s anus? She did it when she lost a bet once as an adolescent pup, and Artificer could swear this was the exact sensation.
Her pups are approaching the date when they come into the world, the change in her body clearly in preparation for that special occasion. She personally was polite enough not to mouth it in front of other mother slugcats, who were often quite irritable thanks to stress, but she always found the state that they were in for the few cycles preceding and after the birth of their litters to be, for the lack of a better word, icky . The mothers were coated in nonvolatile slime to the point that their fur matched more of the consistency of their less fur-dense variants from afar than the ones of this region, and the mostly hairless pups were no less troublesome to deal with thanks to them being coated in it as well, the nest and anywhere the new parent went always causing some of these residues to be left behind.
It was quite a bit past sunrise when she got to clean up her gear from last night, waking up and doing a bit of exercise by pacing her workshop and stretching her back. The batch of fire bricks had set overnight, and Artificer started her work by wrapping the listed number of inert bricks and placing them near the entrance of the tent; one of the soldiers would arrive to pick up the cache of fuel for cooking and other needs this afternoon. She had a few orders still remaining, like the spear tips, the order for two new lizard hide cloaks and some bundles of thread ropes. She had finished forging the metal tips the previous night and was planning to temper and sharpen them today, but she intended to focus on the cloaks first as that was a less energy-demanding task. She was very much expecting, after all, she could no longer work as hard as she needed to.
Her tent flaps fluttered, the sound of footsteps entering inside. Artificer sighed, speaking already before even turning around. “I told you, the spear tips would not be ready until tonight. I still need them tempered before I can hand them off for your war ba-” The red slugcat’s cutting shears clattered to the ground, their owner staring blankly at who they once thought to be a war captain, but the visage of a slugcat with orange fur, eyes still wide and wondrous of the world yet cloak tattered with travel, told her exactly who it was.
“Fireball?” Artificer asked, lips quivering. That was not her actual adult name, but she had known her as a pup for so long that this old name had stuck around even as her younger sister grew up to be a courier and adopted the name of Flametreader. “ARTI!!!” The orange slugcat yelled excitedly, leaping forward at a blazing speed for a usual sibling tackle-hug. The crafter quickly raised her hands in front of her, slightly backing off.
The rush of Flametreader’s swift feat quickly screeched to a stop as the younger sister of Artificer quickly understood what was wrong with her attempts to perform the usual greetings. “Ah, right, you are pregnant. Sorry~ ” The orange slugcat scratched her head guiltily before the peppy attitude returned to her in seconds as she continued. “Anyways~ are you surprised to see me here?”
“Damn well I am!” Artificer exclaimed, a mix of elation and surprise in her voice. “You have to stay by your post in the iridescent trawlers for another thirty or so cycles! What made you come back so early?”
“A courier got her ways, sis~” The excitable messenger spun around, showing off her traveler’s cloak and satchel which was quite worse for wear. “They had a few messages to deliver before we could send out tribute, and since I wanted to meet you so badly, I volunteered and dashed back here as soon as I could! And it appeared that I had made it back just in time!” She knelt and put her hands on Artificer’s visibly full stomach, pressing both her hands on it despite the maroon slugcat slightly wincing at the sudden pressure.
“How are my little niblings doing? You all have grown so large~” Flametreader cooed, noticing a sudden shift from within her older sister. “Aww, the one on the left is saying hi!! How many were you expecting again?”
“Two.” Artificer muttered, glancing behind her slightly awkwardly. “So… how’s Diver? Doing well?”
“Divebomber? Yeah, he’s alright. Eugh .” Hearing her brother and littermate’s name made Flametreader stand back up to discuss their meetings, but she subtly wrinkled her nose upon discovery of the strange layer of slime that now sat upon her hands. “I met him once or twice while his division was deployed around my post.” The orange slugcat quickly brushed the slime off on her cloak. “Pretty nervous since they are close to the front of the ongoing war, but… he had not died any times yet, so that’s good news!”
“Alright, alright.” She stretched her back once more, cracking it back into place. “Nothing much has changed since your last visit, just the same old orders and extra wartime duties.” A flash of sympathy swept across the orange slugcat’s face. “You still have to work even now…?”
“Yeah,” Artificer sighed, “you can’t really argue with someone who will call anything that inconveniences their plan treason against the tribe.” Suddenly, she felt her stomach growling embarrassingly loudly, calling out for extra sustenance. “I am feeling quite peckish right now… how about we go grab something to eat after I tidy up my workshop a little bit?”
“Or here is another idea,” Flametreader struck a fist into her palm, a new idea igniting in her brain. “I will help you clean up the workshop, and you can go outside and get some fresh air! Bring some lunch back in the meantime, and we can relax a bit before you have to continue work again!”
“That… sounds nice. Thanks, sis.” Artificer muttered, a wide grin appearing on the more orange slugcat’s face. “Awesome! Here is my meal voucher; get yourself something good for today! Heard they are having lizard stew again, but just give me some lean cuts if you want.” Flametreader outstretched her hand, passing over the small engraved metal plate to the red slugcat. “Any specific cuts you plan to get for yourself?”
“Hmmm… I am craving some fattier cuts. Maybe a hind or underbelly piece.” Artificer mused, acknowledging the change in her diet that the presence of pups had brought her. “I am feeding for three after all, it can’t hurt to overeat a bit if it means they get all the food they need for the final stretch.”
“Yeah, yeah. You say that.” Flametreader chuckled. “Go ahead, then, I will start with… dusting off the workbench and putting the tools back in place? I think I could do that.”
“Set up a place for us to put the bowls as well.” Artificer remarked, lifting up the tent flaps to enter the center of the tribe and grab lunch from the communal hearth. Soon, only the orange courier is left in Artificer’s tent, sitting in a bit of awkward silence, overlooking all of her sister’s works. She looked down at her satchel, and took a deep sigh. “Alright… just do what I promised.”
At least with all the ostracization, they still had the decency to serve extra for a pregnant slugcat. Artificer got a few odd looks from the hunters working the hearth for this cycle’s meal, usually having food delivered to her by guard so she could “focus on her work more” and “maintain the pups’ health”, but the excuse of having to bring food for both her and her visiting younger sister was taken on well enough for most to accept the voucher and scoop the piping hot de-sulfurized caramel lizard stew into the two ceramic bowls.
She knew that these two poor excuses for justifications were bogus through and through. An extra five or so minute walk to go from her tent to the hearth, get the food, and come back was nowhere near enough time for anything to be paused, save for if it was working with the forge. And don’t get her started on the second reason. She knew that the war captains who had given her this mandate upon the claim of the martial edict could not care any less about a pair of bastard hybrid pups that only weighed their prized crafter down. Artificer was sure if they could cast a spell or make a concoction to terminate them within her, they would.
The real reason? It did not need much digging to find out. Even after all this hard work, producing over time in such a strained state to sustain the wartime economy of the tribe upon her singular shoulders, the Chieftain and the council still do not believe these acts and profession of absolute devotion to the tribe were not enough for them to see the truth. A slugcat who spent many cycles of her childhood growing up in a tribe that now was their most bitter rival, a slugcat who learned of the outside world and revived the dead position of crafter using their knowledge, and who mated and fell burdened with pups with someone of that tribe merely tens of cycles before the declaration of war? She felt lucky that she was not one of the few whose bloodied and desiccated heads hung on the pikes at the entrance of the tribe during the purge, but now she wondered if she was the true unlucky one for being unable to go out like the rest of them.
…meh, that was probably just the mood swings talking. She was sure she was not always so existential like that. Artificer’s nostrils flared as the rich, fatty scent of the caramel lizard hind impacted her olfactory receptors, interlaced with the faint flowery aroma of chunked swamp lilypuck stems. She was never quite a food connoisseur, but she practically salivated and shook at this plain and simple meal. Her mind had gone awry thanks to the change in her body, she knew it that much. Such was a plight that all mothers had to go through, she experienced it personally when her mother was stripped of duty late into carrying Flametreader and Divebomber, but she never had expected it to befell herself… like this.
She never thought she would have pups at all, actually. Sure, she had helped around in raising her parent’s second litter as an adolescent and still retained some know-how and instincts that could assist her in caring for a pup, but… Artificer was not called that for nothing. She was dedicated to her craft above all else and had no love for ever settling down and having her own little ones. That’s what her siblings were for; both of them are still quite young in adult standards right now, but they would probably be more willing to settle down and continue her parent’s lineage when she could not.
Maybe this was the punishment served by her for straying her purpose. She sometimes thought that her incidental meeting with her partner-to-be was some sort of test by a divine entity to see if the lure of love could somehow bait her away from her true calling. What sort of malevolent deity would cause so many to die in a bloody war just as some sort of “punishment” for her diverging from her calling? For so many unneeded to suffer just because of the mistake of one? Artificer sighed, brushing these questions of what could have been aside. She had arrived back at the workshop and would have to watch her steps as she walked through the tent flaps lest she get scalded by the simmering liquids.
Flametreader stood proudly to greet her, hands on hips and evidently quite happy with how she had fixed up the place. The workbench was dusted off, the soot around the forge and anvil swept away, and… ah. Artificer cringed internally seeing the smithing tools being placed in the supply crates instead of on the hand-crafted racks she had specially made for them, and then noticed that the shears and sewing equipment were… missing, unable to be spotted and absolutely not where they were supposed to be placed. “How did I do, sis?” The orange slugcat beamed, outstretching her arms to show around the “pristine” work environment.
“It was… yeah. You did great. Let’s just get to eating, shall we?” Artificer weakly reassured, setting down the two bowls on the stone slab where she usually ate her meals. “I tell ya, Arti, I can make a damn good apprentice if I set my mind on it!” Flametreader confidently grinned, kneeling to get ahold of her bowl and start off her meal.
Artificer… lost control for a bit. She usually ate a lot more refined… but she had spent up all her etiquette on holding herself back up to this point, and the smell of the delicacy in front of her could not be denied any longer. She greedily gulped down the broth, feeling the oil melt from the tallow and hide, enriching the stewing fluid that flowed down and partially scalded her throat. She stopped before any large chunks could possibly enter her throat and choke her, but she was slightly embarrassed to admit that her desperation to get what her body and pups desired had left her in a state none would call graceful and clean. “Slow down, wouldya? We would not want a hole to be burned through your throat in a time like this.” Artificer’s younger sister giggled, amused at the sight that was more befitting of a pup who had not mastered clean eating than her older sister.
“Maybe they wanted this.” Artificer smiled, grazing her hand over her abdomen. “Drill a hole straight through me into their shelter so they can lap up the stew and have their first real taste of food before their due time. Little architects and schemers, these two.” Both siblings laughed heartily at the absurd suggestion, Artificer’s stressful work schedule almost seeming like a distant memory.
“You said you are seeing a lot more slime now, right?” Flametreader fished a bone-on hunk of caramel lizard from her bowl, gnawing the meats off the hard-to-access spots. “That’s like… how soon was it after that happens that pups would be born?
“Around eight to ten cycles, that’s what I heard from the healer. I can not wait to see both of them.” Artificer chuckled, glancing down in a maternality that she had never harbored before. “Y’know, I still remember when you and Diver was about to be born. Dad was away on courier duties and can’t afford to stay and take care of mom back home, so… I had to do what I could and make her comfy.” Artificer smirked at recounting this tale, much to Flametreader’s chagrin, slightly groaning in a matter only induced by an older sibling recounting a tale that only reminded them of their comparative youth.
“I used to be so grossed out at our little den being like this, how she was making the place all dirty every morning when she could not wipe the slime off in her sleep. I threw a bit of a tantrum accusing you two of making our house like this…” Artificer sighed, reliving fond memories. “Then mom told me that the same thing happened when she had me. I got so upset that I ran out of the den and one of the hunters had to go snatch me and bring me back to her! I got quite the scolding after that, but… at least I got along with you well enough for the remaining few cycles before you two came out.”
“Hmph. Whatever.” Flametreader huffed indignantly, crossing her arms. “I’m… surprised that they force you to work even now. I get they hate you and all but…” Her eyes softened with pity, pointing at the state Artificer was in. “Some slugs just do not have morals, huh? No one should be forced to work like this when you are this close to having pups… much less you. You should be resting, preparing for the day, but… this was not right. None of this was right.”
“Tell me about it.” The red slugcat sighed, swallowing a chunk of lizard meat with the fat cap still on. “You oughtta keep your trap shut in public settings about this stuff. With how vocal you are about supporting me, you might be marked a co-conspirator for my grand evil machinations to uproot the tribe.” Artificer twirled her non-existent mustache, too tired to even act properly. “Ah yes… my plans are well underway with… making the rope coils two cycles late because I caught a fever.”
“If only there is something I could do to help you out…” Flametreader scratched the back of her head guiltily, glum from hearing news of her sister’s mistreatment. “How was work anyway? I doubt it is any easier with you being all slimy like that.”
“I have to rub myself clean when dealing with fire powder to ensure the batch is not contaminated,” Artificer muttered. “Usually, mixing the explosive slime in is no problem. Both are explosive; you only end up with more material. But… whatever these are is different. It's like the normal slime that regular slugs make, completely unlike the volatile shit that we use to explode.” The red slugcat lifted her right hand and slapped her own right elbow, Flametreader shielding her eyes and wincing before realizing that the thud of hand hitting flesh is not accompanied by the usual small “pop” sound. “...see? I don’t think I can make an explosive jump now even if I tried.”
“That… must be quite the change in the work routine,” Flametreader mumbled apologetically. “How are you even able to keep up with demands with how you are now?”
“Raw grit and determination is where it’s at.” The red slugcat grinned. “Sure, my movements are not as fast as I used to, but that never stopped me before. I try again and again to find ways to optimize procedures without cutting corners, just so I can improve my efficiency even with my pups being URHF!” Artificer suddenly clutched at her stomach, another over her mouth as an extremely inopportune kick to the diaphragm caused her to exhale rapidly, almost making her vomit up her lunch.
“Is it time?” The orange slugcat leaned closer with urgency, worry in her eyes.
“No… no… fuck.” Artificer cursed. “Little shit decided to kick me in my lungs, just need a second to… catch my breath.” The room was tense and quiet for a few moments, with only the red slugcat’s ragged pants permeating the air. “As… I was saying…” she muttered, “my pups are being quite the nuisance right now, and it appeared they had wanted to do a live demonstration.”
After a slight pause in consideration, Artificer quickly appended her statement. “Come to think of it… I always only feel extra movement coming from one side, and it barely changes and never comes from the other side as strongly. I wonder if… it is just one pup who was the culprit?”
“They better change their behavior real quick when they come out,” Flametreader joked, “with their mother being such a master detective, I’m sure the guilty one would get found out and recieve the ass-whoopin’ of a lifetime!”
“Maybe, maybe.” Artificer chuckled, lifting the bowl up to drink up the last of the broth, setting it back down to reveal it only had some bone scraps and hard lilypuck roots remaining. “Welp, and that’s a wrap for the meal. I gotta get back to work.”
“Oh, one last question…” Flametreader piped up, finishing up her meal as well. “How was your birthing nest coming along? I haven’t seen it around your tent so… where did you stash it away?”
Artificer looked down in slight shame, not quite able to meet her sister’s gaze. “I… uh. I. Am planning to just use my normal nest. Don’t have the materials nor time to assemble a proper one for giving birth.” The orange slugcat’s jaw fell in shock, eyes darting between the moss-and-straw assembly tucked away in the corner of the tent and the serious expression on her older sister’s face. “No. Oh no no no no. That won’t do. You- you don’t even have any rain deer cloth to pad your nest?!”
“They are quite stringent on handing me these supplies, so I am afraid I could not find any spares.” The red slugcat spoke with a tinge of guilt and regret, unable to offer her children a comfortable entrance into the world. “I suppose I will just have to deal with what I ge-”
“Alright, new plan.” Flametreader clapped her hands together, a newfound determination evident on her face. “I am going to do all I can to make my niece and nephew’s entrance as pleasant as possible, starting with remodeling that fixer-upper nest of yours.” Artificer looked in alarm, shocked by her younger sister’s sudden plan. “Wait! I thought you were leaving this afternoon to head back to your post?”
“News flash, sis!” The orange slugcat snapped her fingers. “I am not leaving you here to give birth to them alone. I will demand the elders to let me off the hook for now so I can care for you until the pups are born. My assigned tribe was still fully loyal and there still were two couriers stationed over there to carry any bad news. I am sure they will let me stay with you if I make enough noise.”
“Listen, alright?” Artificer pleaded. “Don’t get involved in this. I don’t want them to get suspicious of you too and get you down the same path I did. I can handle it.” Her younger sister scoffed, shaking her head adamantly. “Pshh, big whup. They can mark me a traitor for all I care, I will not take no for an answer if it means abandoning you in your time of need.” Flametreader looked up with a soft gaze at Artificer, earnestly trying to persuade her. “You helped raise me and Divebomber for all these cycles. You are the best older sister I could have asked for. Please, just let me repay the favor and take care of you and my niblings. I can afford any loss that this choice must bring, I have thought about it long and hard.”
After staring at her long and hard, conflict brewing beneath Artificer’s facade, she finally relented. “Fine. Do what you wish. I am going to go back to work now.” The orange slugcat’s face immediately brightened up, flinging both her hands up in the air to celebrate. “YESS! You won’t regret this, Arti! I will be sure to make your surroundings as perfect for the pups as possible! I am going to go ask around to get some cloth blankets now, see you soon!” Before Artificer can even say goodbye, the courier quickly bolted out of the tent, intent on heading somewhere else.
Artificer shook her head. “Take care, sis.” The red slugcat turned back towards the forge and grabbed two bricks of low-grade fire powder off the shelf, ready to start the tempering process for the unsharpened spearhead tips.
She felt a lot better about her sister’s choice now.
As she worked on the forge, her sister came back from time to time with cloth blankets she borrowed from friends or bartered for, enthusiastic at her new finds as she expanded and padded the nest little by little. She had to take breaks every so often thanks to her reduced stamina, but Flametreader was there whenever possible for them to chat more about anything she had in mind, be it updates about Divebomber and his corp’s expeditions or life in the outpost near her assigned tributary tribe.
It felt like the old days, really, when she was a freshly minted adult with her name and gender officiated and the honorable title of crafter was given to her, and when Flametreader was just an energetic pup running around the tribe looking for trouble. When she was building her workshop like the ones she had seen while she was taken under as an apprentice, she would usually have either Flametreader or Divebomber or sitting by a nearby rock to pass the time, speaking out their hearts to stave off boredom when the kiln bricks were to set or when she had to sew together the tent flaps. Artificer almost forgot how good their company felt, especially after her parents passed away from old age and the two moved away for their own respective jobs.
Flametreader was planning to spend a little bit more and do some sweet-talking to get a second nest and plop it into the tent, allowing herself to stay with her even in the depth of night in case of any health emergencies. Artificer adored the idea and would love for someone to be there when the time eventually came, but the evening dawned upon them and she had to leave for rest in the temporary courier dens for tonight, promising to be by her side as soon as she could get the arrangement figured out. The promise that Flametender made to ensure her would have to work as little as possible for her projects during the final days of the pups’ habitation was something Artificer never knew was something she wanted so badly to hear, surprising even herself by bursting into tears and embracing her younger sister in a tight hug.
With the warmth in her chest from the day’s interactions, Artificer could not wait to lie upon her new luxurious bed. Her younger sister had done a damn good job grabbing what blankets she could, coating the entire nest in at minimum one layer of absorbent rain deer wool. With the fire powder batch properly set and ready to be taken out come morning time, she had clocked herself out for the day and prepared to clean the workshop for tomorrow’s projects, hopefully this time with her sister’s assistance, alleviating her physical and mental stress some more. Now… where did her sister put that damn shear? She noted that it had gone… missing when she first came in, but was too busy to bother finding it out.
The flicker of the pupa lantern weakly radiated the shelves and crates, Artificer filing through her supplies to search for her missing implement. Not in the fire powder storage… not in the bomb casing storage… Certainly not hiding behind the tanning racks… As Artificer checked beneath the crate where she laid her quenched and now tempered spear tips, evidently no way for her younger sister to have stuffed it down there but driven by desperation, she knelt down in spite of her failing spine and peeked under the crate… only to find that something was there.
Artificer reached a hand into the crevice, finding her fingers touching the parchment. She pulled the strange object out and grunted in exertion as her back protested from the weight of the pups. She attempted to stand back up, finally shining a lantern at it and discovering that it was folded. On the front, in black letters, was the phrase “BURN UPON READING”. Artificer’s heart raced. What was this? Did her sister set this up? Was this a betrayal? The tribe would see this as the ultimate evidence of her scheme. No no no no no. She was doomed. Even if she were to report right away, there was no doubt that exile would be the minimal punishment, and she would rather not think about the true depths of depravity they could go to as the stress would harm the pups’ health.
Alright… calm down… she… she should just follow the instruction. Burn it after reading. There would be no trace once this package was tossed into the forge. Just shred it and mix it with the fire powders… and nothing will be left… Artificer’s heart pounded out of her chest as she unsteadily stumbled to her refurbished nest, laying down on it, knowing that there was no turning back from this. Her foot and tail curled up against her slightly swollen abdomen, whose inhabitants had ceased activity for now, and she felt the soft warmth of the wool blankets brushed up against her. Taking an unsteady breath, she unfolded the parchment to have a second bunched-up series of parchment fall out onto her nest, with the word “SCENARIO 4” written on it. Taking her focus back onto the larger parchment, she gasped.
It is a series of highly detailed maps outlining various information ranging from public knowledge to strictly confidential information. There was a detailed map of the Burning Mire with marked patrol paths and notes detailing lizard territories, there was what appears to be a hastily scribbled transcription of new patrol schedules and when each route was to be taken, and there was a larger map featuring the entirety of the Red Arm’s sphere of influence, containing a multitude of biomes and tribes still tied under it.
Her eyebrows contorted into a knot, looking at all of these diagrams and charts and graphs. This had to be a setup of some kind… right? No one should know about this information. Especially not the patrol route, which would only be discussed on council meetings, which she had attended several times in her heyday where the position of crafter was prestigious enough to attend the meeting discussing tribal politics and logistal issues. She was not dumb; there was no hope of “someone good on the inside”, yet… the other details of this looked accurate. There were drawn possible routes for escape and some of the patrol routes diverged into two before merging with notes stating that they were not sure which path was the true one for that route.
Most of the spots on the map she had been to herself, and she could visualize her escapes from one of these pre-determined paths, the difficulty only compounded with carrying two newborn pups. She slowly calmed her breathing, keeping all of this confidential knowledge in mind as she gently folded the map and instruction guide up, needing some time to think before she validated the true intentions behind this delivery. Now… the other bundle of parchment. Say… now that she looks at the front again, the way the title was written looks… kinda…
It was his handwriting.
The partner that she met incidentally one cycle as he ordered some replacement survival gear and the two decided to have a chat while she prepared his equipment, the partner that had made her know love when she thought she never wanted any, the partner forced to flee back to his home as the war begun, the partner whose child she bore right this moment. Millions of questions rushed through her head. Was he behind this? Why was the paper titled Scenario 4? What was scenario 1,2,3? Eyes as wide as a dinner plate, she flipped to the first page to stare at the large collection of words in mounting horror.
Dear Artificer,
Hello dear. I don’t know how I could explain this to you, nor can I console you through the barrier of this parchment. Please take it lightly, and ensure you are in a private place before reading this. You are not a very emotionally expressive slug, but… I don’t want you to get unneeded attention.
…here goes nothing.
If you are reading this, I’m de ad.
The last two letters were written with evidently much newer ink, much less shaky than the handwriting beforehand. Artificer was in no state to notice such discrepancy, though, choking a sob at the realization. She… how was he dead? Is this some sort of cruel mind game played out by a malicious actor? Yet… she could not deny it. It was his handwriting, his mannerisms of speech, his everything. Why? Why was the news sprung like this? Was this his doing? A plan for him to escape? Artificer held back the tears and read on, noticing that the ink used for the words below was slightly less faded.
Hah…
Do you know, Arti? That it has been three days since I composed the draft papers and got ready to write the final version of this letter? I wrote four versions of this, y’know. One for if I got away scot free and can intercept you midway and pick you and the pups up, one for if I became a fugitive and have to schedule a rendezvous somewhere out in the wilds, one for if I become imprisoned and had to figure a way to get out and catch up to your escape, and one for…
Agh. Every single word of this felt like a scorching hot brand pressed on my back. I thought that putting this letter as last priority would give me enough courage to write this up, but… it clearly wasn’t. You would probably be able to push through and get this letter sent in a jiffy. The letters might be a little bit stained with tears though, heh.
…what am I doing? This is not a diary to rant my feelings. This is a log to tell her what to do in case of my death.
…I am supposed to help her grieve, and yet here I am three cycles later, no further in telling anything of use or comfort. This is a waste of parchment. I am going to throw this into the fire and start a new draft.
The ink becomes less faded once again, showing it was written more recently.
Well, well, well.
I did not expect for this letter to come haunt me again. I was sure I threw it into the hearth.
It has been five cycles since I touched this damned draft. The other attempts… did not go so great. I got angry, and most of them I barely wrote down the instructions before losing it and tearing it to shreds. I just lost more and more composure on each subsequent one, until I just gave up and sulked around, lamenting that I can never build up anything to send to you if the worst happens. That was… until I found this.
I don’t think I can stray away from this any longer. It may be of poor quality, but… it is the only shot I got of ever completing this. Sorry for keeping this so long-winded, Arti. I guess even in letter form I am too rambly for my own good, huh?
The patrol schedule should be attached alongside a version of this letter. I pulled some strings to get someone on the inside to promise to send an updated version of your tribe’s assigned routes when the time comes. Isn’t it funny how this worked out? Both of us were accused of being in with the enemy, and here I am utilizing the strings of those who actually were to set both of us free.
You know of the tribe much better than I do, use the schedule to figure out when and where are you going to flee. Check for the newest and most inexperienced recruits, those distracted and inattentive, I know your intuition would be bright enough to spot a gap, eventually. Especially with how bad the war was getting, all the grizzled and experienced are out there battling or intimidating the still loyal tribes into submission, I hope you can find the proper way to escape the Burning Mires.
Wow. It took me three cycles just to write those words. There were so many times where I read the beginning lines, and got so overwhelmed with emotions that I had to shove the papers away into its hiding spot before my impulses took over and shred it into tiny little flakes. But… I am halfway through the letter’s contents now. Here is to hope that the latter half would be a bit easier.
The ink got darker once again.
It has been four cycles since I last wrote, and… Tangled Branches has gone into labor.
…damn it. She was already quite burdened with them when I first started writing these contingencies, but definitely was nowhere near the ‘ready to pop’ stage. Now? I am going to have to face the fact that my niblings would arrive before me. Rumors told me that the healers sensed that she had a litter of three.
Our pups were nowhere developed enough for the number to be determined when I was to leave. I assume you got the numbers from the healer by now? Or better, had them out already for your own eyes to count? …not that it matters here. I won’t be able to receive a response.
“Two.” Artificer croaked, pain choking her voice as only distant chatters of guards came through the tent flaps. They were quiet, unmoving, not even slight undulations notifying of the life present within her at this very moment. She would have to relish what little days she has left hoping that this new sleep cycle would remain. Void knew the drop in her sleep quality from their stubborn insistence to wake up in the middle of the night. Artificer caressed her abdomen, silently whispering to her late partner once again. “We are going to have twins.”
She was never one for pups; there was a reason she had dedicated herself to her craft for so long. As the cycle flashed by and the result of their partnership blossomed… Artificer’s opinions began to change. She knew that mothers gets extremely attached to their pups shortly before and after birth, even more than rational, but experiencing said feelings firsthand was a whole other procedure. Knowing that she would meet her two pups soon… it scared her. It scared her if this feeling would only subside as the days went by, if this extreme sense of maternal protection would fade away. She hoped that when she met her two pups, whatever colors or complexions they inherit from both of them, that she would love them above all else. With a shaky sigh, Artificer continued to read the letter.
I was planning to bring this letter with me if I were to escape one way or another. I am sure the pups would have already been born by then, and I would weep as I got to hold them for the first time. Once we get far enough, we will pitch down for a ceremony. We will gather materials for a pyre, and light it ablaze as our children watches on. I will pull out the versions of the letter I did not send out, and we will read them together. (If we are reading this right now, then hi Arti! hi future me! This is your que to make out, by the way. Have some time to yourselves before continuing down this letter. Also make sure Arti does not cry, ya heartless bastard, comfort your lady if she gets too choked up reading all this drabble.)
The red slugcat can’t help but smile at this gesture of romance he had snuck in. “Oh, please.” She scoffed, mock rolling her tear-crusted eyes. “I bet she would smack you in the face right about now for writing something this sappy.”
…sorry, sorry. If you are reading this alone, Arti… that may not be very sensitive. I trying my best to picture only us and our pups sitting by the warm flames of a pyre, chuckling at my hopeless romanticism shining through the morose tone of this last letter was and breathing a sigh of relief. That is how I am getting through writing these very words as of now. If it were up to me, my next plan would be to toss the three unused letters into the fire, to watch as they shrivel and turn into ash that gently floated into the air. We would be by eachother’s side, so, so glad that this possibility had never came to fruition.
I hope you were successfully able to deliver them. Have whomever still sympathized or cared enough to be by your side in lieu of me, stock plenty of medical herbs and tools in case the going gets rough. I wish our pups the best of luck, but my heart can rest safe knowing that their mother is an amazing slugcat, able to endure the challenges even without my presence.
…I should probably end this writing session here. I know that me and Tangled Branches are not on the best terms right now… but she is my older sister. Even after all the traitor talk, I can not walk away from family when she needs me the most. I will be going now and will update you afterwards.
The birth… was tense, to say the least. She progressed just fine and appreciated my presence, and I am now the uncle to three adorable little pups! I… let me try and get some dye to show you the color of these three.
Beside the letter was three splotches of paint, one a deep purple, one a light blue, and one a pale yellow, each labeled with ‘pup 1’, ‘pup 2,’ and ‘pup 3.’ Artificer pictured the still-wet balls of slick fur that would squirm around in that nest, visualizing their colors as they cuddled against their mother, then looked down at her own abdomen and picturing the same scene but with her and her currently unseen pups.
She initially did not like me being here, and tried to have her partner push me out. Eventually she relented and let me stay by her side and help out, but the room had their eyes on me. I could feel the unwelcome coming from them, all because I was partners with someone who we were fighting a war with… at least Tangled got a lot less hostile after her pups were born, even thanked me for being with her at her weakest. I hope she could see that I am not the traitor the tribe made me out to be just because I followed my heart. Maybe she could even forgive and understand why I must flee.
How was your relationship with your siblings? I doubt your younger brother would be around much, thanks to the war, but your sister was a courier. She should be back here decently often, at least visiting you occasionally. We have a saying, you know, that there are two types of couriers your people send: one who was assigned because they are too weak or too nice for proper bloodshed, and the ones who have something to gain from this position.
Flametreader did not feel like the second type, the corrupt who would intimidate and threaten for extra tribute they could pocket for themselves. She is a nice girl, and as worldly and cultured as you are. I hope that your relationship with her remains positive and she was able to see you as who you always were: her older sister. She may be one of your last allies left as the maw closes in on you.
“I have to agree.” Artificer silently nodded, slightly shocked at the accuracy of the prediction. “I wonder… groves… would you think she would ever forgive me for fleeing?” Of course, the parchment authored by her dead mate yielded no responses, only silently cracking as her finger flipped over to the next page.
The last pages was the darkest and newest ink of them all, and the handwriting is hasty approaching frantic. Artificer’s heart sunk, as she knew what this meant.
I do not know how much time I have left. I have delayed this for so long meekly hoping that if I do not complete it that it never happens, but reality tells me anything but.
The tribe has placed me on house arrest. I am to stay inside my den for all times beside for meal gatherings and meetings. They are ramping up the number of guards and patrols. I have scheduled a handover of these letters to my connection midnight this cycle, and now is the only time I have to finish this last packet.
I am going to attempt an escape and flee to the rendezvous point I had written in letter 2-3, but it was likely this would not be successful. If you are reading this alone… then my connection has seen my fate and acted accordingly.
For now, I am going to repeat the instructions for the future of your escape after this point. I reiterate: the Moss Furs are NOT a safe place to stay. Execution is likely. The only way forwards is finding a tribe outside of the Red Arm’s sphere of influence to seek asylum, but I doubt many nearby would like to host a fugitive lest they trigger the wrath of your wartorn home. Switching to a nomadic lifestyle is… unfavorable, but likely. Go travel far, far away, and find a tribe that can accept you and our pups.
Even after all this, I still hold out hope, I have to. Every night, I imagine us sitting by the pyre, reading notes fabricated by my paranoid mind and laughing at the contingencies still taking place. Now, Arti, the next part is going to get sentimental. I hope that my future self would have the decency to go hug his partner as you are reading these very words sitting by the fire, he would hate to see you cry. Void knew you both deserved all this and more for managing to make it out alive.
You were the most amazing slug I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, a shining jewel of brilliance born from such a bloody place. Even when I saw you work your duty for the tribe that once lorded over us, I could see how you are making a positive impact. You have acculturated from so many tribes inside and out, a mix of them all despite bearing the blood of the conquerors. It was only cycles since our discovery that the messenger came, bloody and beaten bringing the repeal of tributary status, but for that brief period we were parent-to-bes, partners, two kindred slugs who had finally found their happily ever after.
I dream, day and night, to see you again. To touch at your calloused hands weathered from working at the forge, to brush at your ragged back fur and able to slap a tree trunk to create a small explosion, to hear your voice chatter on and on as we tended to our pups. I want to see you grin your serrated teeth as you hunt down a lizard for our meal, I want you to hear you rumble in contentment as the pups fell asleep next to you. I want to take in a whiff of sulfur in the air, scrunch my nose, and grumble that you should try exploding more often to get more of the residue off. I close my eyes and pray, hoping that if I could just picture the heat of the fire hard enough, that would be reality; that would be our future.
He was certainly right about one thing: she was crying. Tears silently fell down onto the page and smearing its contents, close to crumbling at this confession of a love that they had both built together, a love whose results were approaching their emergence.
Now, future me would probably say something snide and cheesy like “looks like my prayers had been answered.” Feel free to sock me square in the jaw if I actually did say that, it is a fitting punishment for me falling so predictable. Or make out with me some more, I am not your boss and you can do what your heart desires. Just be sure that our pups are not moving towards the fire. In fact, I can sense one of them crawling towards it right now! Alright, now you have picked them back up and resumed reading this letter, maybe you should let future me bond with my kids for a bit, hmm? Or maybe just call it a night, send this paper into the fire and watch as the ashes ascend into the great void above. The only stuff really left here are depresso words left for if I did not make it, no point for you two when you probably need the time to… reconnect, if you get what I am saying.
But… deep in my heart I still have to consider the worst possibility. Artificer, if you are reading this alone, I am so, so sorry. My dreams and desires to be reunited has fallen through one way or another, and… I can never see you in all your glories or flaws ever again. Still… if you can no longer laugh in glee at hunting down a meal for me, no longer able to fall asleep peacefully while feeding the pups for me, no longer travel and seek new lands for me, then do it for them, Arti. Do it for them.
Some say that a child is a mere extension of both parents, and I do not believe that is true in any sense. These pups, despite having my blood, is not a part or a fragment of me in any physical way, but their own slugcats with their own quirks and flaws. It is always a miracle gone unappreciated, no? How the body of a single slugcat can grow and nurture its own flesh and turn it into perspectives previously unseen, several new pairs of wide unknowing eyes ready to explore the world all over again? Such a wondrous feat often goes unappreciated when you view a child only by its parents.
…Would you look at that. I have ran out of parchment. I can’t even bother to not rabble on even in my last moments.
Well, I am going to seal the packet now and await the handoff. Please, Arti, if you are still reading this alone, burn or shred this letter. I don’t want you to get into trouble. Say hi to the pups for me if they are already here.
Oh, one last thing.
I love you, Fire Cherry.
---Grovetender
Artificer had to press her face hard against the nest just to avoid all-out bawling. Tears saturated the cloth of reindeer wool as the red slugcat silently sobbed, the last words of her partner echoing in her mind. She knew she could not wail or outright mourn; that privliege has been long taken away thanks to the suspicion it will bring. So here she was, her cries only muffled by her own nest and the walls of her tent.
She was not sure how long she was in her stupor, just feeling the nest wetted further and further as she let out her grief. A small shift within her called to her attention, tiny flutters of movement that reminded her that she had company. “I know, you two.” Artificer quietly called out, caressing her abdomen to calm the new bouts of movement. “I will. I will do it for you. I have to.” She looked around her workshop, parts scattered all over ready to be repurposed. Even seconds after her body calmed, she was formulating, listing out exactly what she needed.
“For you, Grovetender, for all of us.” the disgraced crafter quietly muttered. “I am going to find a way out.”